


Liar

by EdgarAllanCat



Series: Liars Universe [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Caning, Dom Alice, Dom Margo, Dom Penny, Dom/sub, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Humiliation, Impact Play, Kneeling, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Consensual Spanking, Paddling, Platonic BDSM, Public Humiliation, Slow Burn, Spanking, Strapping, Sub Dom universe, Sub Eliot, Sub Quentin, Switch Julia, Switch Kady
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:22:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllanCat/pseuds/EdgarAllanCat
Summary: Rewrite of my original fic "Like a Liar Does"Eliot Waugh is a Sub, but only Margo was privy to this information. Problems arise after Eliot's secret is accidentally on purpose exposed and he finds a sense of comfort in a bitter and angry Psychic who wants little to nothing to do with him. However, Eliot's not the only one with a secret. As the group grows closer lies are discovered and secrets that were best kept in the dark come to lightSlow-burn, alternate universe with eventual Penny/Eliot.Tags updated as the fic updates.
Relationships: Alice Quinn/Julia Wicker, Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson/Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Liars Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772698
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Welcome to Brakebills

**Eliot**

Margo had said five minutes, so all Eliot had to do was count to sixty five times. Or he could count to three hundred once. Somehow, that didn’t seem quite right. Tilting his head back, Eliot quickly did the math in his head to double check and make sure that five multiplied by sixty was, in fact, three hundred. Then he realized he had no idea how long he’d spent thinking about math and now didn’t know how much time had passed or how much longer he’d be kneeling on the floor. Groaning, Eliot let his head loll back to stare up at the ceiling. Margo had said five minutes and yet he was starting to think he had been kneeling there for at least an hour.

“Keep your hands still,” Margo told him as she loudly turned a page in her magazine.

With a put upon sigh, Eliot stopped twisting his fingers around his curls and repositioned himself so his hands were clasped together at the back of his neck. He repositioned his weight, more out of boredom than discomfort, and chanced a glance at Margo. She was comfortable laid out on the bed, eyes on the latest issue of Vanity Fair instead of on him which he found wholly unfair. What was the point in keeping proper position if she wasn’t even watching him to make sure he was doing as she’d asked? Well, he decided, if she was going to ignore him then he wasn’t going to play anymore. In a moment of idiotic defiance Eliot dropped his hands from his neck and went to push himself off the floor.

Before his fingers had even touched the hardwood Margo’s hand was around his wrist. “That’s the opposite of keeping your hands still, El.”

“I’m bored,” he whined, letting his head fall to rest against Margo’s shoulder. “I’m bored, this is boring. I honestly think watching paint dry would be more entertaining.”

Indulging Eliot’s dramatics, Margo brushed her fingers gently through Eliot’s messy hair as she moved to gracefully kneel down in front of him. “I’d feel so much worse for you if you hadn’t asked me to do this,” she reminded him, irritation slipping into her voice.

She was mostly right and Eliot felt like he was allowed to be just a little bitter about that. While he couldn’t technically blame her, that was exactly what he was going to do. “Actually you said I needed to calm down and I just agreed with you. Agreeing isn’t the same thing as asking, Margo. Besides, how the hell is kneeling on the floor supposed to help me be calm? That’s—ow!”

It didn’t actually hurt that bad when Margo slapped at Eliot’s thigh, his trousers absorbed most of the blow, and he reacted more to the sharp sound than anything else. Still, he put on a pout and rubbed at the spot as though it was still stinging.

“Number one, you’re already way calmer than you were. Number two, this might go better and easier if you actually bothered to listen to me when I talked. Number three, you put me in charge and I don’t remember asking to listen to you sit there and complain. Number four, back straight, hands behind your back this time.”

Eliot opened his mouth to argue but Margo’s expression told him that this would be over faster if he just pretended like he was listening to her. He made a great show of straightening himself up and clasping his hands behind his back, all the while looking at Margo with barely suppressed annoyance. It wasn’t Margo’s fault, she was the only Dom he knew and trusted enough to get this close to him, to see him like this. If anyone asked then Eliot would tell them he’d lost his real ID years ago but he was pretty sure that he was classified as a Switch, because telling the truth was the most dangerous thing he could think to do. With Margo it was different. She wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t take advantage of him, just because he was stamped with the horrific title of Submissive. Unfortunately for both of them, it also meant that she was the only one he could go to when he needed to Sub and it worked about as well as any of his other plans.

“And how long am I supposed to stay down here?” he drawled out, his fingers already starting to twitch.

Margo settled down on the floor, making herself comfortable against the pile of pillows by her bed, and shrugged. “Until I say otherwise. I know you, Eliot, you just try to count seconds if there’s a time limit.”

He frowned and rolled his eyes. “I do not…”

“Less talking more submitting. And since you can’t be trusted to sit quietly on the floor by yourself…back straight.”

Great. If he’d just waited three hundred seconds before getting bored then this could all be over and he could go back to telling Margo about the cute little first year boy he’d seen. Now he had an indeterminable amount of time on the floor with Margo keeping a watchful eye before he could gush about his flavor of the week. He shifted on the floor, trying to find a position where the cold wood didn’t hurt his knees too bad, and earned himself a scowl from Margo.

“Focus, Eliot. At least try to stay still.”

Oh sure, it was probably way easier to be still while sitting on a pillow throne. Kneeling was easy, that was part of what made it so boring. It had been nice the first couple of times when Margo had commented on how pretty he was and what elegant posture he had. Now it was just routine and that made it lose any entertainment value Eliot might’ve once given it. Not that there was much else they could do. Save for serious situations, Eliot had a long list of things in his ‘hard limits’ category for scenes with Margo. Although, as he tried to find something to occupy his mind he began to rethink what was and what wasn’t allowed.

Not wanting to continue to try and meet Margo’s glare, Eliot cast his gaze toward the ceiling. Maybe this would be easier if he gave the ceiling a paint job, it already boring and the off-white color just made it that much worse. Wait, it wasn’t all white. There was a reddish stain right beside the overhead light that was either blood or wine. Eliot suspected wine because he couldn’t imagine how he would get blood on the ceiling. It wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility. It did make more sense that he would be more willing to spill blood than wine.

“Eliot!” Margo snapped.

Tearing his gaze away from the ceiling Eliot gave up, letting his arms fall. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair because he hated this! He hated the fact that a firm voice could make his insides quake. It wasn’t that he couldn’t rebel against it. There were times when someone’s voice dropped an octave that everything inside him screamed to kneel and he had to learn to ignore it and pretend it didn’t make him shiver. More than that though, he hated how fucking bad he was at this. Any other Sub in the world could probably very easily kneel on the floor in front of a trusted Dom for five minutes and yet there he was struggling to keep his hands still or his head up or gaze steady. It wouldn’t have been a problem if he didn’t need it! If he didn’t need the release that came from submitting then he would just give up entirely because he sucked at it.

“Shh, shh, hey, don’t do that, come here,” Margo said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper as she moved across the floor to Eliot. “You’re getting yourself worked up and frustrated and that’s definitely not helping. Just relax, there we go.”

He let Margo pull him over to the pillow pile and rested his head on her shoulder while she stroked his hair and started up a mantra of telling him how good he was. The praise sent a wave of warmth through his chest and he reached up, his fingers gripping the front of her shirt so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The steady stream for affirmations from Margo made him feel safe enough to breathe again and let himself calm down. Unfortunately, calming down just reminded him how stupid he was for getting upset in the first place. The only Subs who needed who worry about being good were Subs actively involved with or looking for a Dominant, not Subs who were using their best friend as a stevia version of a Dominant.

Margo kept rubbing circles on Eliot’s back, patiently keeping up the reassurances. “There we go, there’s my pretty boy,” she said as Eliot finally lifted his head up. “Is that what you needed? Just the nice parts?”

Eliot shrugged, realizing he’d like it better when she was just telling him how good he was. “Less questions, more petting,” he told her, settling back down.

“Well, you seem calmer than you were. So, tell me about this first year that got you all hot and bothered.”

Brightening significantly, Eliot sat up with renewed energy. “His name is Quentin, I met him two hours ago, and I love him. He’s the single most awkward person I’ve ever met. Actually, I don’t think he’s a person at all, I think he’s a physical manifestation of awkwardness that has taken the shape of a very soft, very cute, very confused, very cute—“

“You already said cute.”

“Very cute boy. I met him on his way to his entrance exam, he tripped over a line drawn on the floor, and then apologized to the floor. Honestly, perfection.”

Margo hummed as she carded her fingers through Eliot’s hair. “Well, if he’s as cute as you say he is then we’ll have to fight over him.”

“I saw him first.”

“Yes, but I’m Margo and when I want something I get it so you’d better hope he isn’t nearly as cute as you’re playing him up to be.”

Eliot rolled his eyes at Margo’s faux threats. “He’s so not even your type. He’s soft, sweet, and submissive. You’re Margo, you like something that’s at least a bit of a challenge.”

“That must be why we’re such good friends.” She paused, brushing Eliot’s curls from his face. “Seriously though, do you feel better or do you need more time?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, as he sat up and stretched. His joints popped and groaned as he moved from being in odd positions for the past half hour.

Margo stared up at him for a second, clearly unconvinced of how ‘fine’ he was. For a moment it looked like she was going to call him out on it, but instead she said, “I don’t remember telling you that you could get up.”

“We’re out of scene.”

“Not until I say we are. Lie back down and try that again.”

“Margo!”

“Eliot.”

Eliot knew exactly what Margo wanted; he just absolutely _hated_ asking for any kind of permission to do anything. It was the single most humiliating part of anything and he was sure that he would never ever get used to it. “Margo, come on!” he groaned, rolling over and kicking his foot against the floor. Instead of a reprieve this only earned him another slightly stingy swat on his leg.

“One task, Eliot, that’s all I ask. Do one little thing and we’ll be done.”

Four words, that was all he needed to say, four words that made furious. Gritting his teeth, Eliot closed his eyes and tried to disconnect himself from his body enough to ask for permission without dying of embarrassment in the process. “May I get up?” he managed, spitting out the question with no regard to respect or etiquette.

Despite the attitude, Margo smiled and ruffled Eliot’s hair. “Of course you can, don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a smile. “If you want you can even show me this apparently very cute boy.”

Ear burning, Eliot pushed himself away from the pillow pile, moving toward the mirror to make sure his outfit didn’t look too rumpled. As he walked he tried to ignore how much tension had drained from his shoulders. “You can’t have him, I called dibs.”

“Dibs are only valid if we see a guy at the same time. You have an unfair advantage.”

After straightening his tie Eliot turned and offered Margo his hand, “Then I guess you’ll get your challenge after all.”

Grinning, Margo took Eliot’s hand and pulled herself upright before linking arms with him. “We could always share. Don’t look at me like that! I’m very good at sharing.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi, we’ll find you your own little first year.”

The conversation was relaxed and easy like it always was with Margo. It seemed so easy for her to slip out of her role as a Dom and quickly just be his best friend again. Instead of telling him to sit still and watch his posture she laughed as his quips and pointed out which first years she saw who looked like they’d flunk out within the first month.

Something about the first year dorms made Eliot think of old asylums. Perhaps it was the institutional florescent lighting or the peeling eggshell paint on the walls or the fact that the bat wing style corridors gave him major Kirkbride architecture vibes. Whatever it was, Eliot was thrilled he got to live in the warm, cozy cottage without the smell of axe mixed with industrial cleaner assaulting his nose. Also, the cottage had much better security than the dormitories. There were, technically, locks on the door but nothing that couldn’t be thwarted with a simple spell.

Eliot led Margo through the corridors until he found a door with a little white card that said ‘Quentin Coldwater’ in black lettering. It looked as though there had been another nametag on the door above Quentin’s name but now all that remained were two sad pieces of double-sided tape. Eliot listened at the door for a moment, it sounded like there was an argument going on inside. Well, the drama would have to wait.

“Quentin!” Eliot greeted as he swung open the door. “This is the interruption you’ve been waiting for!”

Humming to herself, Margo looked Quentin over like he was a bracelet in a glass case at Tiffany’s. “Hi, I’m Margo,” she purred. “He’s not that cute. Although….” A smile tugged at her lips as she delicately reached out to ghost her hand along Quentin’s tie. “Small, shy, Submissive. My three favorite S’s.”

Eliot playfully clicked his teeth at her. “Down girl, I saw him first.

Quentin blinked, looking between Margo and Eliot with curious confusion. It took him a moment to gather his words up but, unfortunately, when he did open his mouth to speak he was interrupted.

“Can I get a moment of peace in this place?”

His lack of special awareness and hyper focus on Quentin hadn’t allowed Eliot to realize there was someone else in the room. Eliot tilted his head, taking in Quentin’s roommate, thinking that if he were more into scarves and toxic masculinity the boy would be someone he might be interested in having a forgettable one night stand with. For now, though, Eliot decided it was best to focus on his current conquest; in part because he was still relaxed from his scene with Margo and didn’t want to risk accidentally embarrassing himself in front of a strange, first year Dom.

“No, welcome to Brakebills,” Eliot said before turning on his heel. “Come along, Quentin, we’ll give you the grand tour.”

It wasn’t that Eliot thought Quentin necessarily _needed_ a full tour of Brakebills but it did give Eliot time to put on a mask and be the center of attention. Feigning confidence, he led Quentin along the garden path, pointing different building, people who were cool (that is to say, Margo and himself) and people who were uncool (which, incidentally, was everyone else). It seemed like it was going well. Quentin’s eyes were on him and Margo’s occasional commentary kept Eliot from having to ramble on for too long.

The absolute amazement in Quentin’s eyes made Eliot somewhat nostalgic. Almost everyone at Brakebills had been through the same experience. Sure, there were a few outliers, people from magical families or those who had experienced safe houses, but, for the most part, everyone spent at least a week in wide-eyed wonder, marveling at the miracle of their new, magical life. If only that astonishment lasted, if only magic stayed magical.

“Quentin!”

Eliot’s monologue was cut short just as he was getting to the good part regarding where to find the best parties (spoiler: the best party was whatever party he was at). He’d been standing on a stone bench, giving him more of a height advantage than normal which made him able to spot a dark haired girl hurrying through the crowded courtyard. How had Quentin made another friend already, Eliot wondered, maybe it was his _super outgoing and confident personality_.

“Quentin!” the girl called again, her smoky voice ensnaring Quentin’s attention.

“Julia!” Quentin lit up and hurried over to the girl, embracing her in a tight hug. “I thought I saw you in the exam hall but then I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t even sure if the exam was real because—“

“I know, it was insane,” Julia finished for him, keeping a tight hold on his hands. “The questions kept randomly changing and moving around—“

“And then—I mean, I got to invent my own language so that was cool—“

“Then having to go in front of a panel and do magic—“

“I didn’t even know I could do magic before—“

“I know! Me neither!”

They bounced off each other in that fashion for quite some time and Eliot realized that Quentin probably wasn’t going to introduce him to this friend he apparently had now. At least, Eliot _hoped_ this girl was just his friend. Snaking his arm around Margo’s waist, Eliot cleared his throat in the hopes of ending their excited jumping.

“Well, this is all very twee,” he said once Quentin’s focus was back on him, “aren’t you going to introduce us to your little friend here?”

Looking more apologetic than he should’ve been Quentin quickly nodded. “Right, yeah, sorry, I just got—um, anyway, right. Jules, this is Eliot and, um, Mar—Margo? Yeah, Margo. They were showing me around campus. And this is Julia.”

Julia stood up a little straighter. “Nice to meet you,” she said, offering out her hand.

“She’s my best friend since forever, basically. And we, um, we used to do magic together—not real magic but, like, stage magic. Like cardistry…”

God, he was cute. It was somehow painful and adorable to watch him stumble over his words, Eliot could watch Quentin ramble forever. He wondered what it would look like if Quentin ever actually relaxed. That was something he had to see. “Pleasure.” He ignored Julia’s hand and opted to instead rest his head affectionately on Margo’s shoulder.

Eye sparkling dangerously, Margo gave Julia a predatory smile. “Love the blazer,” she said in a way that only sounded like a compliment if you didn’t know her well.

Realizing that no one was going to shake Julia slowly lowered her hand in slight embarrassment. As though she forgot what she was wearing Julia looked down at her blazer, smoothing out the lapels. “Oh, um, thanks. I like your shoes.”

“Everyone likes my shoes.”

Alright, these awkward introductions had officially gone on too long. Quentin wasn’t being endearingly awkward so this was boring now. “As I was saying before we were so _rudely_ interrupted,” he said, smiling as though he were joking, “we’re having a party tonight. Celebrating the last day before the crushing stress of not flunking out threatens to give many of us nervous breakdowns and increases our suicidal ideation. Anyway, we’d love for you to join us.”

“That’s certainly dramatic,” Julia mumbled to herself. “You’re inviting us to a party?”

“We’re inviting Quentin to a party,” Margo clarified, her voice slow and sweet as though she were talking to a particularly stupid child.

“Don’t be rude” It was clear to Eliot that Julia was Quentin’s safety friend, meaning he wasn’t likely to leave her side while in a new place. For now, they were a package deal and he could play nice. “His little friend is more than welcome to join us.”

Margo paused, looking to Eliot to make sure he was sure about this. “Of course, the more the merrier,” she said once she got her silent confirmation that Eliot knew what he was doing.

“Just be there between eight tonight and…three in the morning.”

“And wear something slutty but still classy.”

“Ta for now, children.”

Linking arms, Eliot and Margo headed back down the path towards the cottage, leaving Quentin and Julia no time to confirm or deny the invitation. Though, Eliot didn’t have any doubts that the two would show up. After all, they were so ecstatic about attending a magical university that they must’ve been at least curious as to what a magical party would entail.

“Do we like her?” Margo asked once they were out of earshot.

One of the beautiful things about being friends with Margo was that you were never alone in your hatred for someone. They were a team who hated people together. For his part, Eliot absolutely despised Melanie Wong. He’d never met her and Margo hadn’t seen her since the fifth grade. However, Melanie Wong had stolen Margo’s headband once during recess, which meant now Eliot had to be enemies with her until the end of time.

“Hard to tell. Dom?”

Margo scoffed. “Not a Dom and definitely not Quentin’s Dom,” she assured him. “Actually, if I had to guess then I’d say…” Margo pressed her forefinger to her temple, feigning deep concentration. “Switch.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’m psychic now. And I stole her ID.” She smirked, holding up a white leather clutch wallet.

Everyday Eliot found a new reason to be thankful he was on Margo’s good side. “Have I told you how much I absolutely adore you?” he asked, lifting his hand to twirl her around as though they were dancing.

She smiled, laughing as she braced herself against his shoulder. “Maybe once or twice, but you can tell me again while you help me find an outfit.”

**Quentin**

Less than twenty-four hours ago Quentin had been prepared to abandon his childish hopes of ever getting into Hogwarts or going on a magical quest to save a princess trapped in a faraway castle. In the bleak, grey Brooklyn streets he had accepted it was time to relinquish himself to a passionless life as a philosophy major whose only plan was to quietly die before having to make a career out of his degree. The fight to keep holding onto even a modicum of hope had exhausted him to the point of defeat.

Now here he was, standing on the lush green quad of a magical university with the summer sun shining down on him. He didn’t even care _why_ it was suddenly summer, afraid that if he questioned it then the illusion would shatter and he would be thrust back into bitter reality. Taking it all in Quentin thought he should be happy, ecstatic even, that he was here and this was real. But there was a nagging fear in the back of his mind, something telling him that if he enjoyed it too much then it would all come crashing down around him. He tried to shut that voice down, trying his best to enjoy this and believe it was happening.

“Quentin?”

Julia’s voice brought him out of his head and back into the moment. He relaxed a little, remembering that he wasn’t alone in this. It was hard starting a new school, and having his best friend there definitely took some of the pressure off. As long as he had Julia he felt safe.

“Since when do you go to parties without me dragging you there?” she asked, half teasing half concerned.

That was actually a really good question and Quentin didn’t quite know how to answer it. Sure, he’d never been accused of being the life of a party and maybe once or twice he had ducked out early to find a quiet place where he could just be alone, but he had a good feeling about this one. “It’s a party at a magic school, that’s gotta be different than a regular college party.” His mind was already wandering to imagines of Gandalf’s fireworks filling the air over the Hudson.

Tilting her head Julia looked him over as though seeing him for the first time. “Is this the new Quentin Coldwater? Magician and party animal?”

“You did say it was time for a change.”

She broke into a full, bright smile, the kind that reached her sparkling eyes and reminded Quentin of childhood. “I will admit that when I said that I wasn’t expecting us to end up in…” She paused, glancing around the quad and trying to find the right word to describe their situation.

“In Fillory?” Quentin finished for her, relieved when she nodded and didn’t make fun of him.

“I say, Rupert, what adventures do you think we shall find in this place?” Julia said, putting on a fake British dialect and linking arms with Quentin.

Walking with Julia, pretending they were in Fillory, felt safe and familiar. It was like all the stress Quentin had been dealing with in the outside world melted away when he passed through the magical barrier. “We have a ball to attend at Castle Whitespire tonight,” he told her, putting on the same faux dialect.

Her smile faltered and Julia squeezed Quentin’s upper arm. “Yeah, um, how much do you know about those people? The ones who invited us to the party?”

Oh, he hadn’t meant for things to get serious. He’d enjoyed their pretending for the moment that it lasted and wasn’t sure what he’d said to mess it up. “Eliot and Margo? Well, I met Eliot when I first got here, he showed me where the exam room was which I guess is just something the older students do so we don’t get lost? Because I definitely would’ve gotten lost.”

“No one showed me where to go.”

“Maybe they knew you wouldn’t get lost?” Quentin shrugged because it wasn’t like he knew how anything here happened; he was still trying to parse though why he was here at all. “Anyway, I guess Margo’s Eliot’s best friend so…they seem nice.”

Julia’s expression made it clear she didn’t agree. She was quiet for a moment, her lips pursed in thought as they headed down the garden path. “Just stick close to me until we’re sure they’re nice,” she finally said.

Quentin didn’t know how to explain it to her but he trusted Eliot. Sure, he hadn’t known him long, but he was nice and hadn’t done anything to make Quentin feel uneasy. He suspected that people who went to Brakebills were different from other people. They did magic and somehow he assumed that made them nicer. Although, he was still glad that Julia would be there with him. Eliot and Margo probably had their own friends they wanted to hang out with and Quentin suspected they wouldn’t enjoy spending the whole party with him following them around like a lost puppy. He’d have no problem staying close to Julia, she was his safety friend and he usually stayed close to her at parties anyway.

“Hey, can we get ready in your room?” Quentin asked as they approached the dorms. “My roommate is…kind of aggressive.”

“Did he do something to you?”

The last thing Quentin wanted was to start a new school with a reputation of having Julia fight his battles for him. Not again. “No, no, not exactly. He’s just, well, he’s Penny. It’s fine.”

Julia still looked concerned but didn’t press the issue. “Sure. My roommate is kinda weird, but in a good way. I think you’ll like her.”

He certainly hoped so. He hoped to like everything here. This was a new start, a new chance, and everything he’d dreamed of. He felt like Rupert Chatwin stepping though the wardrobe and planting his feet on Fillorian soil for the first time. Magic buzzed around him, reminding him that he wasn’t like Rupert, he was like Quentin, which was usually a horrible realization. Except this time being like Quentin meant he had his own magical journey before him and with Julia at his side he was more than ready to explore what Brakebills had to offer.


	2. A Party, Lets Have a Party

**Eliot**

Drinking in the bath was easy, relaxing even. You could pour yourself a glass of wine, set up an ice bucket, settle down into the bubbles and have yourself a nice, soothing time. The same could not be said for drinking wine in the shower. No matter how careful you were, somehow soap always got into the glass and the steam warmed the wine, making the Chardonnay borderline un-drinkable. Any rational person would’ve learned the first dozen times that shower wine was a bad idea, but Eliot had never been lumped into the category of rational.

Steam billowed out behind him as Eliot stepped out of the bathroom, sipping on his soapy Chardonnay. Checking the time he was a little disappointed to see that it was only a little after eight and he could’ve taken a bath, avoiding the shower wine situation all together. It wasn’t even dark yet and all he needed to do to prepare for the evening was put together an outfit, which would only take forty-five minutes. Well, at least this gave him a little time to relax.

Wrapping his silk smoking jacket around him Eliot settled onto the sofa, lighting a cigarette and trying to enjoy his wine. Despite the soap this wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever put in his mouth and, besides, he couldn’t waste it. There were very few rules in the cottage worth following and one that Eliot strictly enforced was leaving no glass full. Alcohol abuse would not be tolerated. It was, however, hard to enjoy his relaxing time with that obnoxious banging sound echoing through the cottage.

“Is no one going to answer the door?” Margo yelled as she walked down the stairs.

Oh, the banging was knocking, that made sense. Shrugging, Eliot sipped his wine. “Someone is. That someone might be you.”

She didn’t even stop to glare at him. “And someone might want to remember that I know where he sleeps.” She pulled open the door and paused. “Is it Halloween already? I wasn’t ready for trick or treaters but your costumes are adorable.”

“You invited us over,” Julia said. “Also, did you know you don’t have a doorknob?”

Margo raised her brow. “Why would we have a doorknob?”

Eliot nearly spilled his drink getting up off the sofa. Looking out the window he confirmed that there was still daylight left and the clock on the wall clearly said 8:17, so he hadn’t lost track of time anywhere and wasn’t crazy in thinking it was too early for this. Tying his robe closed Eliot moved to stand by Margo, exchanging a silent, judgmental look with her.

“We invited you for a party,” he explained slowly. “And that means—do we know you?”

There was a blonde girl with them who looked to be trying to hide herself. Her black Peter Pan collared dress was shapeless, clearly chosen in a moot attempt to conceal the fact that she was well endowed, and her thick framed glasses shielded most of her face from view. The self-esteem issues radiating from her almost overpowered Quentin’s.

“No. I’m Alice Quinn,” she tersely explained.

“She’s Julia’s roommate,” Quentin jumped in. “I mean, like you said, the more the merrier. It is a party…right?”

There was something endearing about Quentin being so nervous, Eliot couldn’t even pretend to be mad. He pushed the door open a little wider and ushered the first years inside. “Invite all your friends, we’re glad to corrupt them. Though, you will have to pardon the lack of party. It’s a bit too early to start.”

“You said eight,” Julia reminded him.

“Eight in party terms never means eight. Eight means ‘Be Late’.” He shook his head as though explaining this was beneath him then handed his glass of Chardonnay off to Quentin. “You’ll have to entertain yourselves while Margo and I finish preparing. Don’t touch my bar but feel free to sit and get comfortable.”

Turning around he and Margo didn’t give the others a chance to argue, there clearly wasn’t time for that, not when they had to get ready on such short notice. It was a good thing that half of his stuff was in Margo’s room anyway, they needed to talk about a few things before this party got started.

“Alice Quinn,” Eliot repeated as he flopped onto Margo’s bed. “You don’t think she’s a Quinn like—”

“Like _The_ Quinns? One of _the_ most important and influential magical families Quinns? As in Magical Architect and Legendary Party Thrower: Daniel Quinn?” Margo finished for him, digging through her closet. “It could just be a coincidence. Then again, she didn’t have the first year stare.”

“Alice didn’t look like she was in Wonderland.”

Margo threw a few outfits onto the bed and sat beside Eliot, pulling him into a sitting position and untying his robe for him. “We might actually have to try to impress her,” she said as she pushed the silk robe from Eliot’s bony shoulders. “I mean, if the Quinn parties are anything like the rumors claim then we need to step up our game.”

Eliot let his eyes flutter closed, the sudden chill on his bare skin causing goosebumps on his pale arms. Normally, Eliot had some shyness about his nude body, preferring to cover his scars and jutting bones with layers of clothes. But this was Margo and she had seen every inch of him, making the experience of her rubbing his bare shoulders familiar and comforting rather than terrifying and nerve wracking.

“I can dress myself,” he mumbled as Margo moved his arms to slide his shirt on.

Shushing him, she ran her fingers through his hair. “Let me do it, this is fun for me.”

And he did. Maybe it was because they’d had a session earlier in the day or maybe it was the skin to skin contact, but he quickly relaxed and let Margo dress him like he was a doll. “So long as I look good. Have to make a good impression since Quentin’s here.” He knew he needed to keep talking to remain above the clouds. It would’ve been so easy to slip down and find himself feeling Submissive. Any other time this would be amazing, but not right before he had to be in public.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to spend tonight cleaning up the remnants of your romance?”

“Because I’m delightfully predictable?”

“Situations are predictable, you’re a box of unforeseeable nightmares.” 

He couldn’t help but smile, tilting his chin up so Margo could fix his tie. “I’m not going to sleep with him. Not right now, anyway.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

“He’s sweet and soft and maybe I just want to spend time with him.”

“Uh huh, and he’s a Su—“

“Don’t.”

Of course Quentin was a Sub, but Eliot was trying to convince himself that that had nothing to do with how he was feeling. Subs didn’t usually play together, not outside of cuddling sessions. Eliot had spent a lot of time curled up with other Subs in clubs when he’d had a bad session or felt too vulnerable to seek out a Dom. Quentin…well, he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ he wanted to do with Quentin. That was something to figure out in the moment.

Margo put her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I just don’t get it. I mean, the sweaty palms and nervous stutter are adorable but they get old after a while, don’t you think?”

“Yes, well, we’re not all like you. We don’t all look for the single most challenging thing and declare it to be the one we want. Seriously, when have you ever had an actual Sub?” Eliot asked, letting his eyes flutter open. His vision was slightly blurred; it took him a few seconds to readjust to the light in the room and to bring his head back to reality.

With a smile Margo stood up, taking off her shirt and throwing it on the bed. “What can I say? I don’t do boring.” She stared in the mirror for a moment before discarding her bra and going to dig through one of her drawers. “Maybe I’ll grab up Quentin’s little Switch friend. She seems like a fun little brat.”

Eliot faux gagged at the idea and over to reach down to the floor, launching a padded bra off the floor at his friend.

“Hey! Oh, thanks, I needed this one.”

“I know, because I know Victoria’s Secret. The secret is she doesn’t have tits,” he said, ducking just in time to avoid Margo smacking the back of his head. “Real talk, you’re only even considering Julia because she’s shorter than you and you never find anyone—ow!” He didn’t quite duck fast enough that time.

“It’s not a real idea, it was a joke. But now that I know you think it’s a bad idea maybe I’ll do it.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You have bad ideas.”

“Name one bad idea I’ve ever had in my life.”

Clipping her bra on Margo turned around, crossing her arms over her chest. “Robert? Matthias? Do I even need to mention—“

“Please don’t say his name,” Eliot pleaded, his voice strangely serious for a conversation with Margo. Some exes were fine to joke about; others should never be brought up again.

The mattress dipped as Margo sat back beside him, brushing his hair back. “I won’t. I’m just saying sometimes your romantic endeavors can end a little messy.”

Eliot moved away from Margo’s touch, both because he was upset over her bringing his exes into this and to keep himself from falling into her touch again. “Well, nothing like that is happening this time because I’m taking it slow. Almost as slow as you’re taking to get ready. Seriously, that party’ll be over and you’ll still be looking for underwear.”

With a huff, Margo pulled on her black and gold bodycon dress. “Watch it,” she told him, holding her hairbrush threateningly then casually using it to fix her hair. “I was busy dressing you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“It calmed you down.”

He hated that she was right and decided to find a belt for his trousers rather than find an argument. This was supposed to be a good night, he was supposed to be excited. Instead, he was thinking about how much it sucked to be Submissive.

Heels clicking against the floor, Margo made her way over to the mirror and snaked her arm around Eliot’s waist. “We look fabulous,” she declared, smiling at their reflections.

There was no denying that. Eliot’s black tie and gold accented black vest complimented Margo’s dress flawlessly. Shifting uncomfortably, Eliot grabbed his pomade and mussed up his hair in an attempt to get it to look carelessly but perfectly tousled. With Margo’s quick help he had that Woke-Up-Like-This-Flawless look.

“Shall we?” He held out his hand Margo, standing up straight and pretending he hadn’t just been Subby ten minutes prior.

Eliot wondered if he and Margo had always fit so perfectly in each other’s arms or if they had just been walking wrapped up in one another for so long that moving in tandem was now second nature. As they glided down the stairs Eliot looked over the commons. Quentin and Julia had settled onto the sofa, Alice’s attention was on one of the bookcases, and no one else had shown up for the party because they understood what eight o’clock meant.

“You get the drinks and I’ll deal with the first years?” Margo suggested.

With a curt nod Eliot broke away from her, lowered the wards around his bar and grabbed up a bottle of Midori. Eliot strongly suspected that his bar was one of the most highly protected places on the Brakebills campus. It had taken days of work before he and Margo were satisfied that no one would be able to drunkenly stumble into the shelves of glasses and alcohol.

It took him no time at all to craft his signature cocktail. After making a drink so many times the motions were now entirely muscle memory. No pours needed to be measured, there was no referring to his cocktail book, he barely even had to think about it. The hardest part was balancing the martini glasses on the tray and gathering enough grace not to trip. There was nothing in the world more embarrassing than ending up on the floor covered in sticky liquor.

“You haven’t truly lived until you’ve tried our signature cocktail,” he announced as he headed out of the bar and made the act of carrying a tray of fragile glasses look effortless.

Margo had strategically settled between Quentin and Julia, making Eliot wonder if she was actually joking about taking the Switch or not. “Finally, I was starting to think we’d die of dehydration,” she teased, passing drinks to the two first years beside her.

Setting down the tray Eliot grabbed the last two glasses, making his way over to Alice. “Consider this your official welcome to Brakebills. Cheers.”

This was his favorite part. He loved watching people take their first sip of his creation. There was always a little hesitation, perhaps the vibrant green was a bit concerning, but once the first years worked past their trepidation the satisfaction set in. Even Julia, who had looked the most apprehensive about the drink, relaxed her shoulders as she sipped.

“That’s…really sweet…and strong,” Quentin said, struggling for a proper adjective. “It’s better than the wine.”

Oh. He’d forgotten about giving that to Quentin. “That’s shower wine,” he explained, taking the Chardonnay and finishing it off. It wasn’t like he could let it go to waste, someone had paid good money for that wine.

Julia raised her brow at the mention of shower wine, but seemed to decide it was better to take another drink rather than comment. “I usually go for something a little stronger with a little less mixer and a lot more entirely whisky but it’s not bad for a cocktail.”

“It may be a bit too advanced for your palette,” Eliot quipped back.

“I’m not really a big drink—it’s good,” Alice said, stepping a little closer to the group to fully join the conversation. She turned to Eliot, big, blue eyes scanning his face as she carefully considered what to say next. “It’s great that you made everyone drinks. That was good. Good bo—“

“We need music,” he quickly interrupted, waving Alice off with a tut to start up the stereo. “People should start milling in any minute, they’re magnetically drawn to bright lights and alcohol, and I need to grab some wine. No one wants their host to be unprepared.”

The room felt stuffy and he needed an escape far more than he actually needed more Chardonnay. It was so stupid! One little phrase made in passing shouldn’t be enough to make his stomach drop. The worst part was that he couldn’t even be mad at Alice over it. She didn’t know that he’d been Subbing mere minutes before coming downstairs, she didn’t know that it would affect him like this. God, he wanted to be mad, he wanted to hate her, he wanted her to say it again and again while playing with his hair.

The kitchen gave him a moment of privacy to finish off his drink and get ahold of himself. There was no way he was letting one little comment from one little first year ruin his night. This party was all about getting to know Quentin better, possibly getting a little cuddling in and he wasn’t about to give up on that in favor of hiding in the kitchen. Since his martini glass was empty he found relief in his flask, the whisky burning his nerves and throat.

“Hey,” Margo said softly, checking Eliot over as she stepped into the kitchen. “People are showing up and there’s no bartender. Want me to tell them to fuck off for ten minutes?”

It was impressive how quickly Margo’s presence could put him at ease. Her hand on his shoulder grounded him and he reached up, interlacing his fingers with hers. “I can’t keep my fans waiting.”

There was a silent understanding between them. They acknowledged what happened without ever having to actually speak on it. Margo grabbed a bottle of wine with her free hand, cradling it in her arm like a baby. “I’ll keep Alice and Switch-Bitch distracted while you try to figure out what charm is and how you can use it to catch Quentin’s attention.”

“You’re so good to me,” he said by way of thanks, kissing her temple.

It helped having Margo there. She could keep him from driving himself insane replaying Alice’s words in his head. It helped even more to see that he’d been right about people flocking to the music and free drinks. Releasing Margo’s hand Eliot turned the music up and the mini drama with Alice was forgotten as he found himself getting swept up into party-mode, his mind focused on keeping everyone supplied with something delightfully alcoholic.

Time moved differently behind the bar. He didn’t have time to check the clock when he was caught up mixing drinks, inventing cocktails for people who didn’t know what they wanted, and occasionally pausing to flirt with someone he wouldn’t seek out on the dance floor. Though he would often complain about how he rarely got to enjoy his own party the truth of the matter was that he loved playing bartender. It fed his need to serve without the unpleasant parts of finding a Dom. Drinks made people happy and that made some part of him feel fulfilled.

Once his need was satisfied and most people were properly inebriated, Eliot poured himself a drink, set a few bottles out for people to serve themselves, and went to mingle. It was nice to have something he could sip on at his leisure as opposed to the shots he’d taken at the bar. A few lightweights had already passed out on each out, a couple was arguing loudly on the stairs (“I mean, I hate you but I’m still gonna suck your dick later because you’re _still_ cute,” a girl was saying in a voice a little too loud to be appropriate), and Alice Quinn was still on her first drink and still absolutely captivated by the bookcase. Regardless of what had happened before and regardless of whether or not she was a Dom, Eliot simply couldn’t let her waste a perfectly good party by hiding in a corner.

“You know, the books will still be here when the party’s over. May I?” he said, taking the stem of the glass between his fingers.

Alice blinked up at him and then relinquished her hold on her drink. “Your books are out of order.”

The glass was warm and Eliot could only imagine how watered down and gag inducing it had become over the last few hours. Disregarding the rules, he poured what was left of the drink into a nearby fake plant the second Alice’s attention was back on the books. “That’s the order that makes them happy. If you’re not careful they’ll start to fight. You know, if you didn’t like the drink we could’ve gotten you something else. Wouldn’t want anyone going sober.”

“What?” Alice’s attention snapped back to him and she looked momentarily horrified. “Oh, no, that’s not it; the drink was fine I’m just…” She paused, fiddling with her glasses. “Believe it or not I’m not really a big drinker.”

That was something of a shock considering the rumors about her family, but Eliot tried not to let the shock show on his face. “We all have to start somewhere and I’m here for your journey,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Come with me, I have just the thing.”

He expected her to protest. Considering her casual ‘Good boy’ earlier he thought she might think being a Dom meant something to him, that the Dom was supposed to lead. But, curiously, she followed behind him without complaint and Eliot wondered if Alice would continue to surprise him.

Grabbing up a Blackberry Merlot he poured two generous glasses, serving size usually reserved for Margo. “Here you are. Now, that should be a little easier on you than a mixed drink. Cheers.”

It took her a moment of examining her drink, smelling it and crinkling her nose, before Alice finally decided to throw caution to the wind and clink her glass with Eliot’s. She took a sip and jumped, as though surprised by the sweetness, her hand going up to her mouth. “Oh, that’s—I actually like that a lot better.”

“Another satisfied customer. Now, you drink that and go wild. I’m sure you can find someone whose better conversation than a couple of bitter books.”

There was almost a smile on her face and she looked down like she wanted to hide it. “I don’t really…go wild, as you put it.”

“Try it sometime. You’ll feel better. Now, I have another first year to mentor. Where’s your friend? Quentin, was it?”

Alice lifted her hand, gesturing vaguely toward a card game happening on the couches. “He’s been watching and drinking whatever Margo brings him. Someone needs to watch him or he’s gonna end up in trouble.”

Eliot wanted to ask who Quentin would be in trouble with, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Instead, he assured Alice that he’d keep an eye on him and broke away to go be charming, hoping that she would loosen up enough to have some semblance of fun.

Quentin was, well, technically speaking he was in a chair but it would be wrong to say he was sitting in it. It was more like he was perched, sitting up on his toes, knees close to his chest, drink clutched in his hands, and all his focus on the card game happening in front of him. There was something absolutely adorable about how fascinated he was.

Of course, he couldn’t just stand there and stare. Despite the alcohol in his system clouding his judgment he knew that was a bit creepy. Taking a drink for courage he put a hand on Quentin’s shoulder, intending on just getting his attention but accidentally surprising him and making him jump. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Room for one more?”

There was a flash of confusion on Quentin’s face before he realized what Eliot meant and scooted over in the chair. “Sorry, I was just watching, um, I’m not entirely sure what they’re doing but it’s pretty cool.”

“It’s basically table Welters with unimpressive magic.”

“Welters?”

Ugh, there was no way he was going into explaining Welters. “Don’t worry about it. It’s dull as death and twice as boring. Unlike the miniature version, there isn’t even any drinking in Welters. I guess the only plus side is that Margo and I aren’t banned from regular Welters.”

“Only because no one’s caught you cheating at Welters, Waugh,” a dark haired boy (Eliot was fairly sure his name was Grant) said before taking a card out of the deck on the table. “You can’t set other players on fire.”

“It’s not my fault you can only focus on one thing at a time, Grant.”

“Greg.”

“Didn’t ask.” He rolled his eyes. “Alright, this is officially boring. Quentin, aren’t you bored yet?”

Purple sparkles from Greg’s game spell reflected in Quentin’s wide eyes. “I don’t think I could ever get bored watching magic.”

Oh, Eliot longed for that sense of wonder, nostalgic for the days that everything magical captivated him and made him think that everything would be okay. It made him want to hide Quentin away from the harsh realities of magic and the pain behind every spell. Well, maybe he could keep the dream alive for a little while longer with something a bit more impressive than colorful sparks.

First, he had to make sure they weren’t going to get immediately interrupted. “Where’d your little friend go?” he asked, glancing around the room.

“Jules? Oh, um, she went with your friend. Margo, I think? Yeah, Margo. She said she’d be back in a minute but….I don’t know how long ago that was. It’s weird, usually I’m the one who leaves parties early.”

God bless Margo, the church might as well declare her a saint for her sacrifice and miracles that night. “The music’s a bit loud to have a conversation, don’t you think? If you want to chat then we can go somewhere a little quieter.”

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Quentin said, painfully oblivious.

“I mean, the party is starting to wind down a bit—“

“Oh, should I get my coat?”

Eliot paused and took a calming breath, wondering if Quentin had ever been flirted with before. If he had, Eliot doubted he’d paid any attention at all. Alright, so maybe he just had to be a bit blunter about this. “Come on, I can show you magic that’ll make these little light shows look like popper number one.” He pushed himself out of the chair, offering out his hand, giving Quentin the chance to refuse.

Quentin glanced up and Eliot could practically hear the gears turning in his brain. “Are you sure you wanna show cool magic to…. _me_?” he asked, finally seeming to piece together what was going on.

“I asked you, didn’t I? Of course, you can always stay, watch the game, wait for Julia to get back from whatever she’s doing with Margo.” His voice didn’t betray him, remaining calm despite his heart pounding against his chest.

The few seconds it took Quentin to make a decision felt like hours, but then he reached out and took Eliot’s hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “So…super cool magic?”

“You won’t be disappointed.”

At least, he hoped not. Quentin wasn’t actually that drunk, despite Margo bringing him drinks. He kept up with Eliot weaving him through throngs of partygoers without stumbling. Actually, Quentin almost seemed to be walking better than he did completely sober. It was nice that they were on an even playing field of intoxication, but Eliot worried that it would also keep Quentin from being impressed. If Eliot wasn’t careful he’d overthink until his whole plan seemed stupid and end up trashing the whole thing.

By the time they got in his bedroom Eliot had almost convinced himself that this was a bad idea and he’d talked his magic up so much that Quentin was going to be let down. The music was muffled when Eliot closed the door, making it a bit easier to think. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room. The only light source came in the form of an unflattering orange glow from the streetlamps outside.

“Is it supposed to be dark?” Quentin asked.

“How silly of me, let me get some light in here for you.”

Releasing Quentin’s hand Eliot cracked his knuckles. Despite the fact that Quentin couldn’t see what he was doing Eliot still made a great show of how graceful his long fingers looked when performing complex tuts. He could feel the warmth across his skin before the flicker of light formed between his hands. His fingers danced through the air, shaping the fire floating in the air. Twisting his hands he grew the fire, shaping it as it expanded. The fireball warmed his face as it spun in the air, now about the size of a basketball. Eliot could see Quentin’s eyes going wide as he watched, the flickering flames reflecting in his irises. With one swift motion Eliot sent the ball high above them where the shape began to change. It blossomed out as a flower, the petals spinning as they opened. Twisting his fingers again the petals slowly fell off, falling gently through the air. With one quick motion the petals hit the floor, turning them into soaring dragons that flew back up and to the dozen candles placed around the room. The moment the candles were lit the dragons spiraled up towards the ceiling, turning to smoke before they hit the wood.

“So, still impressed by a couple sparklers?” Eliot tried to read Quentin’s face in the dim candlelight, tried to see past the exaggerated shadows and find awe in Quentin’s eyes. He wouldn’t be able to breathe until he had confirmation that he’d done good and his heart wouldn’t slow until he was validated.

There was silence for several long, anxiety inducing moments. Every time Quentin opened his mouth to speak the words refused to fall from his lips. He turned to Eliot, looking back to the candles a couple of times before he finally seemed to regain a fundamental understanding of human language. “Why do you have so many candles?”

“ _Ambiance_ ,” Eliot snapped, feeling his heart sink. “Forget it. We can go back and watch the stupid little—“

“That’s not what I mean,” Quentin said quickly. “I’m just--Just…making sure it wasn’t a fire hazard. That was—I don’t have the words to explain how awesome that was.”

Eliot looked to see if Quentin was lying, but that smile was honest and contagious. He found himself thankful was the dim light that hid the blush on his cheeks. “If you thought that was impressive then you should check out my bed.”

“Is the mattress magical?” Quentin asked in earnest.

God, he was cute, Eliot almost forgot why he had been nervous in the first place. “Something like that. Careful, don’t trip over anything.”

There were always so many things on Eliot's floor, cleaning had never been his strong suit but he was pretty good at kicking things out of the way. There was no magic sewn into the bed, but it was a welcoming soft space to settle down. As Quentin got comfortable Eliot began to realize that he didn’t have a plan. Hell, he hadn’t expected to get this far. Now he was here and Quentin was in his bed and he had the most perfect cupid’s bow.

“You can lie down if you want,” Eliot offered, a little unsure of himself. For all his talk, most of Eliot’s experience was in one night stands and failed relationships where he was following the other person. He wasn’t good at taking the lead, no matter how hard he tried to be.

His suggestion must’ve been a good one because Quentin stretched out, resting his head on the pillow. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh, right. I can lie down too. It’s my bed, I can do what I want in it.” God, he sounded like an idiot and he needed to just relax. Everything was fine, it was better than fine, it was everything he’d wanted but now he felt like a dog that’d finally caught a car. Maybe lying down would help, or maybe he’d just fall asleep and he could forget about this mess.

No, he didn’t want to sleep; Quentin looked downright celestial in the flickering candlelight and he wanted to stay awake to marvel at his beauty. He had eyelashes that Eliot was sure Margo would pay good money for and just the softest looking lips. It wasn’t fair, it was downright sinful how perfectly shaped Quentin’s lips were.

“Is—is there something on my face?” Quentin asked, hand self-consciously coming up to hide those beautiful lips.

“Do you want there to be?”

Eliot didn’t expect a verbal answer, especially considering the quizzical look that came over Quentin. Okay, it was now or never, he told himself. He scooted closer, keeping his eyes on Quentin, making his intentions so clear there was no way the other boy could misinterpret them. Moving slowly, he waited for Quentin to pull away, waited for Quentin to push him off the bed, waited for the inevitable rejection.

The space between them grew smaller until there was none and Eliot’s lips were on Quentin’s. There was no hesitation, no rejection, just the taste of Quentin. He tasted like Tito’s and lemonade, and small sparks of residual magic mixed in with every drink. There was something new about this kiss, something Eliot had never experienced from other kisses. It was soft, gentle, and Eliot knew he could break away at any moment. There was no fear in this kiss, no pain, no fight for dominance. In fact, Quentin had relinquished control that Eliot didn’t know what to do with. It was almost playfully harmless.

The noises Quentin made against Eliot’s lips were euphoric and sent a shiver up Eliot’s spine. Feeling safe, he experimented with nipping at Quentin’s lower lip, eliciting a moan that made his knees weak. It was his turn to whimper when Quentin’s hands came up to hold Eliot’s waist, pushing his shirt up just enough to feel Quentin’s warm fingers against his skin. He wanted Quentin’s nails to scratch along his hips, leaving angry red lines in their wake. He wanted Quentin to flip him over, to smack him a couple times, to take control back, to show Eliot what happened when Subs tried to take charge. This was wrong. This was backwards. Something wasn’t right here.

Suddenly, they were both bathed in harsh light spilling in from the hallway. Eliot shielded his face and squinted, the sudden intrusion making his eyes burn as he struggled to see who would interrupt his perfect little moment.

“Alice?” Quentin muttered, half sitting up in the bed. “What are you doing?”

“That’s what I was just about to ask you.” There was an edge to her voice that made Eliot tense, a familiar tone that made him want to apologize despite having done nothing wrong.

It took everything to keep his composure. No way was he going to get all Subby now, not for some first year girl he didn’t even know. “The party got boring, we were just getting to know each other better. Personally, I like everything I learned tonight. What about you, Q?”

“Uh,” Quentin looked between Alice and Eliot before his eyes settled to stare at the floor. “Yeah, it was nice….”

Alice sighed, stepping into the room and taking Quentin by the hand, pulling him out of Eliot’s bed. “You’re drunk. You’re drunk and this is exactly what Julia was worried about. I can’t believe she was right.”

“Julia doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Eliot sneered, sitting up and definitely making eye contact with Alice. “Last time I checked, Quentin was an adult and he could make his own decisions.”

She held his gaze without faltering. “Look, I don’t really care about 90% of this, this isn’t how I want to be spending my evening, but if you and Quentin want to hook up, maybe try it sober the first time. “

“I’m really not _that_ drunk,” Quentin interjected, not sounding very convincing.

“Take it up with Julia. For now…can you just wait in the hallway, please? I’ll be out in a minute and we’ll find her. I just need a second with Eliot.”

For a second it looked like Quentin was going to try and argue, but before he had the chance he broke under Alice’s Dominant stare. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, defeated. “Night, Eliot.”

“We’ll catch up soon, Quentin,” Eliot promised, watching the boy leave. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to end! It wasn’t fair! The moment Quentin was gone Eliot looked back to Alice, the fire in his eyes unrelated to the candles. “Where do you get off telling people what to do? You’re not his Dom, you can’t just order him around as you please.”

“I can keep him safe,” she countered. “What would two Subs do together anyway?” she asked, equal parts frustrated and curious.

The question caught Eliot so off guard that it took several minutes for him to say anything, not counting the scandalized noises he made in place of words. “I don’t know who told you I was a Sub but it’s not true. I’m a Switch.”

Alice scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Then you need to be tested again because I’ve never met someone with more Submissive traits.”

“Do you need to bring Quentin back in here and watch us make out again? In case you didn’t notice, I was on top.”

“I saw enough. There was no ‘on top’. There were two Subs….I guess I can see how it would feel safe or—“

“Get out of my room,” Eliot snapped. “If you’re just going to stand there and insult me—“

“It wasn’t an insult!”

“You’re dismissed, Miss Quinn. I’m so over listening to you right now.”

If Eliot didn’t know better he’d swear there was something akin to pity in Alice’s eyes. “I’ve got to get Quentin to Julia anyway. You just….just stay in your room, you can see him tomorrow. Thanks…for the wine.”

Who did she think she was? She had no business telling him what to do! She had no business telling anyone what to do! Eliot flung his pillow at the door as soon as Alice left. God, why couldn’t he be angry at her?! Why did he understand that she was just doing what she thought was best for her friend?! He could be mad that she didn’t listen to Quentin, except Quentin didn’t sound convincingly sober. He could be mad she’d called him a Sub, except for the part where she was right. He wasn’t sure who he was mad at, but he knew one thing: Alice had told him to stay in his room, and no one told him what to do.

**Julia**

It had been an exhausting thirty-six hours. In less than two days all of Julia’s carefully crafted life plans had been thrown out the window, replaced with an unknown magical future. She wasn’t spontaneous; she didn’t even try out a new deli without first researching it, checking out reviews, and making sure she’d like it. Now, she was moving blindly through life, jumping at the opportunity to give up everything she knew, everything she had worked for, to get a taste of magic she didn’t know she believed in anymore.

The only time she’d slept was when she passed out after her entrance exam. She’d been assured by the dean that this was normal, but that didn’t make her feel less embarrassed by it. Anyway, passing out wasn’t exactly restful and she knew she should’ve gone to bed instead of following Quentin to a party with a bunch of strangers. All she wanted was to find somewhere quiet to curl up, or at least take off her shoes to rest her aching feet. Ugh, wearing heels was a mistake, she should’ve known this from experience but she would continue to make the same mistake every time she went out.

“What’s the matter, Kitty Cat?” Margo said, her voice somehow soft despite her having to talk over the music. She gracefully weaved around people to stand in Julia’s corner by the bar. “Not having a good time?”

Julia shrugged, shaking the seasoned ice at the bottom of her rocks glass. “It’s been a long day,” she admitted, too tired to pretend otherwise.

Margo gave her a sympathetic look, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We all get like that, but don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing to help you perk right up…And maybe some different shoes while we’re at it,” she added, glancing down. “I mean, those are cute and all but not the best for tired little legs if you’re not well studied in the art of heels. Don’t worry, I have the perfect Louboutin flats.”

For a second Julia didn’t realize that she was walking, letting Margo lead her away from the party. “I really need to keep an eye on my friend,” she halfheartedly protested.

“I think Alice is mature enough to—“

“I meant Quentin.” Although, maybe Alice needed a safety-friend, too, she seemed more comfortable in a library than at a party.

“Oh.” Lifting herself up on her toes Margo scanned the crowd before looking back to Julia with a smile. “He’s made a few friends, they’re playing a little magic game, I think he’ll be alright for a few minutes while you slip into something a little more comfortable.”

That actually sounded really interesting and Julia almost wanted to go join Quentin, but the pain in her toes and arches coupled with her absolute exhaustion outweighed her curiosity in that moment. Maybe she’d get the chance to check it out after she changed her shoes. So, she relented, letting Margo lead her up the stairs without complaint.

It was nice to be away from the loud music. In the quiet of Margo’s room Julia’s ears buzzed and she let out a sigh of relief. The plush, white bed by the window looked so soft and inviting that it took all Julia’s restraint not to immediately lie down and close her eyes. She reminded herself that she didn’t know Margo well enough to crash in her room, no matter how tired she was.

“So, cocaine or Adderall?” Margo asked, grabbing a Valentino bag from under her desk.

“What?”

“I’m kidding.” She laughed, pulling a Red Bull from her purse and handing it over to Julia. “Have a seat, drink that, and I’ll get you something more comfortable.” Gently, she pushed down on Julia’s shoulder, her manicured nails putting just enough pressure to lightly mark the skin. It wasn’t aggressive, but Margo didn’t let go until Julia was settled on the bed. A near predatory smile crossed over her face before she turned around, trotting over to the closet.

Something told Julia that she had made a mistake coming up here, but it felt so nice to be able to sit down for a few minutes. “Actually, I think cocaine might work better,” she said, only half joking as she popped open her drink.

“Hmm? Well, I might be able to look around later, see if we can’t help you out with that.”

Well, that certainly was a casual offer and Julia couldn’t tell if Margo was kidding or not. She sipped at her drink, enjoying the quiet for a moment. At this point, she wasn’t sure if Red Bull actually did anything for her at all. It had been her go-to for long study sessions and term papers the past four years and she suspected that she only liked the familiar sweet taste without any of the energy boosting benefits.

The sound of the closet doors snapping shut caught her attention and Margo came back over, a pair of black, studded Louboutin flats in her hands. They did look more comfortable than Julia’s four inch Jimmy Choo’s.

“Don’t worry, you keep waking yourself up, Margo’ll take care of it.”

Julia didn’t know what that meant until it was too late. Bending down, Margo slipped Julia’s shoes off, going to slide the flats on in their place.

“Woah, woah, hold up!” Nearly spilling her drink Julia jumped back on the bed, pulling her legs up to her chest. There was something distressingly intimate about having someone put your shoes on for you and Julia was nowhere near there with Margo. Hell, she didn’t even know Margo’s last name! “It’s fine, it’s fine. I can do it myself,” she insisted, a bit embarrassed by her reaction but not willing to change her stance on this.

Margo shrugged, dropping the shoes on the floor. “Suit yourself. “

Seeing how unbothered Margo was made Julia feel a little silly. There was no way Margo meant anything serious by the offer, she was probably just trying to help. Nevertheless, it was nice to be asked before someone just started touching your shoes. “Thanks,” she said, setting her drink on the bedside table and quickly changing into the flats.

“There. Now, isn’t that better than stumbling around in heels that are just a little too high for you?”

It was, but Julia wished Margo had phrased it differently. “Those aren’t my highest heels.”

Something about that seemed to personally offended Margo. “You look better in flats. Oh, I think you dropped something.” She reached back behind Julia, grabbing something off the bed.

“Oh, my wallet. I…didn’t even realize I had it on me.” She didn’t remember bringing it with her, but being so exhausted meant that she didn’t exactly trust herself to have a proper memory. Putting her wallet with her shoes Julia realized she’d made a critical error. “I should’ve brought my purse. I’m so going to drop something.”

“You’re so lucky you know me,” Margo told her, grinning broadly as she went back to her closet. “I think I even have a purse that matches the shoes. Ah, there we go. You already lost your wallet once, try not to do it again.” Heading back over Margo settled onto the bed, dropping a bag down in Julia’s lap.

It was the perfect size to carry Julia’s shoes and wallet back to the dorm. While she was incredibly grateful there was something about Margo’s generosity that didn’t sit right with her. Something nagged at her, telling her to keep her guard up. “Why are you being so nice?” She regretted the question as soon as the words left her mouth. It came out a bit more blunt than Julia meant it to.

If Margo was offended at all by the question it didn’t show on her face. She simply shrugged and flipped her hair back. “I guess I just want to be your friend.”

Julia didn’t know what she expected Margo to say, but it wasn’t that. “Huh,” she said, not knowing how else to respond.

“You sound surprised. What? Don’t people usually want to be friends with you?”

“No, nothing like that—I mean, they do want to be—I just though, I mean, based on our first conversation I kind of thought you were….kind of a bitch,” she admitted, feeling heat rush to her cheeks.

That made Margo laugh, genuinely throw back her head, put her hand on her chest, and laugh. “Oh, sweetie, I am. I’m a terrible, catty, stone-cold bitch. Did no one tell you that you could be a bitch and a good person at the same time?”

How was it that everything Margo said took Julia by surprise and left her not knowing what to say? She wasn’t sure how she felt about this. Usually she tried to have the upper hand but it felt like Margo kept pulling that just out of reach. “Usually when people call me a bitch it’s not because they think I’m a good person.”

“Usually when I get called a bitch it’s because they’re intimidated.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” After all, who wouldn’t be intimidated by Margo? Julia would never, ever admit it out loud but even just having a conversation with her was daunting and dizzying. “Maybe we should get back to the party? I kind of want to step out for a smoke anyway.” A little fresh air would definitely help.

Margo just passed her an ashtray. “I need a break from the shitty music. Need a lighter?”

Julia shook her head, pulling out her pack and her bic. “We can smoke inside?”

“I’m not going to tattle on you.”

“Good, don’t want to get detention on my first day,” she joked. Honestly, she was mostly worried about getting ashes on Margo’s bed. “Speaking of first days, I should probably get Quentin soon and head back to the dorms. We’ve got class tomorrow, I’m already exhausted and he sleeps like a rock when he drinks. I don’t want us both to oversleep.” That part was actually true and she’d stopped herself before she sounded like a complete dork and talked about how excited she was for class.

Tilting her head, Margo considered Julia for a moment. It wasn’t an overly judgmental stare; there was softness in her eyes as they swept over Julia’s face. “It’s sweet how worried you are about him, but if you’re tired then I’m sure he can find his way across campus by himself.”

“He once got lost in Ikea for four hours.”

“We’ve got empty rooms just for a situation like this. People crash here all the time; it’s not a big deal.”

It felt like a big deal. Leaving Quentin alone in a strange place was just asking for disaster. “I’ve gotta keep an eye on him.”

“Why?” Margo said, exasperated. “Does he get drunk and start fires? Or adopt cats? Or do strange drugs and expect you to know what they were?”

“That got weirdly specific.”

“I just mean that he’s never going to learn to—excuse you. We knock before we enter a room unless we want to lose our knuckles.”

“I was looking for Julia. Someone said she was up here.”

Blinking in confusion, Julia looked away from Margo and over to the door. “Alice.” Despite being a little grateful for the intrusion, Julia couldn’t help but worry. “Is everything okay? Is Quentin….?”

Alice shook her head, looking more annoyed than concerned. “He’s fine. I mean, he’s drunk and that thing you were afraid was going to happen, well, it happened.”

She knew it! Or, at the very least, suspected it. This was high school prom all over again. “I need to get him. I’ve got to—this is why I have to keep an eye on him,” she said to Margo as she gathered up her stuff.

“Believe me, I get it. When you’ve gotta save your friend from his drunken self…well, good luck.” she said, sounding like she really did empathize with the situation.

“We’ll, uh, we’ll catch up later,” Julia offered quickly by way of goodbyes before nearly knocking Alice over to get out of the room. Her heart pounded against her chest and her stomach twisted painfully with anxiety. “Is he actually okay? What happened?” she demanded as soon as the door was shut. This wasn’t a conversation for other people to overhear.

Shrugging, Alice led the way down the hallway. “Like I said, he’s really fine. I mean, there’s not much damage that two Subs can cause together.”

It took a minute for what Alice said to process in Julia’s brain. Once it did, she came to an immediate halt, replaying those words in her head. “Wait, no, I heard that Eliot was a Switch.” Not that she had asked anyone at the party about him in an attempt to feed her own paranoia, but she had and it did.

“Anyone who actually believes that is an idiot. He may not be a very good Sub, but he checks off all the boxes.” She paused, scrunching her forehead. “Look, I’m not really into—this feels a lot like gossiping and I’d really just like to get back to the dorm so just…take my word for it, let’s get Quentin, and leave.”

Julia had so many more questions, but she figured it was best to save those for a time when Alice was in a more sharing mood. “Yeah, I—I need to find Quentin. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now.”

By the looks of it, Quentin wasn’t feeling great. Julia spotted him the moment she turned the corner. His back was pressed against the wall behind him, legs pulled close to his chest and his chin resting on his knees, causing his hair to fall over his face. It looked like he was trying to take up as little room as possible and stay out of the way despite the fact that he was completely alone.

Heart aching, Julia knelt down and softly put her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Q, I’m here. What happened? Are you alright?” She didn’t want to overwhelm him with questions but she had to know how bad the damage was this time.

Quentin lifted his head, staring at Julia and furrowing his brow. “I’m fine. Alice told me to sit here and she’s not my—but I figured listening might be a good idea.” He paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts together in his intoxicated brain. “Am I in trouble?”

God, she just wanted to hug him and fix everything. “No, Q, of course not. What Eliot did wasn’t your fault,” she assured him, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.

“What? Oh, that was more a—it was a team effort.”

“What do you mean?”

“A team,” Quentin repeated. “Like, more than, ya know, one person.”

Horrified, Julia looked to Alice for help but she seemed just as confused as Julia was. “There was more than one person involved?” God, this was worse than high school! At least then it was just some girls trying to humiliate Q by having one of them pretend to like him. This was more of a calculated assault!

“Yeah? Jules, are you okay?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

Quentin just blinked, looking up at her. “I guess? Can we just go?”

“Of course, yeah, here, lean on me.”

He let out a small noise that sounded almost like a laugh as he pushed himself up off the floor. “You’re half my size.”

There was something unsettling about how Quentin was in seemingly good spirits after being traumatized. Maybe it was just the alcohol in his system keeping him from realizing what had happened or maybe he was still processing it. She didn’t want to push him, not so soon after it happened. “Yeah, usually it’s me leaning on you when we leave a party. Don’t worry, I’m pretty strong, I think I can handle you.”

“Jules, I’m—I’m really fine,” he insisted but didn’t protest as she put an arm around him to keep him stabilized. “Just…really tired. The last forty-eight hours have been…”

“Eventful. Yeah, I know. Let’s just get you to bed, alright?”

Sleep would help, it would help Quentin sort out what happened and Julia only hoped that in the morning, when the reality of the situation hit, she would be able to pick up the pieces and help him get through this. As exhausted as she was, Julia didn’t foresee a lot of sleep in her future. It would be a night of tossing and turning and plotting revenge. Eliot wasn’t going to get away with this. Maybe this kind of shit had gone unnoticed in the past, but that was before the little Sub fucked with Quentin. Julia Wicker was on this campus now, and Eliot had no idea what hell awaited him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's taken me so long to update. As some of you know I've been recovering from getting shot and it's been very hard to focus on anything, really. Comments and Kudos are always appreciated! Follow me on twitter @JasperLeor and if you want to support me in other ways check out the links in this tweet 
> 
> https://twitter.com/JasperLeor/status/1279736641524060167
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and I'll try to update soon!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to write as much as possible and update when I can. I was recently in a bad accident that has limited my abilities to do a lot of my normal everyday things and work, ect. If you want to support me check me out on twitter: https://twitter.com/JasperLeor  
> And if you have the means to do so check out my pinned tweet, any support of any kind (whether through my pinned or through comments!) are always appreciated! Thanks so much -Jasper


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